


"I wish I was Another"

by Samaire (AbstractFairytales)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbstractFairytales/pseuds/Samaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Used this lovely Dragon age prompter which gave me:<br/>Male Lavellan and Andraste<br/>Title: I wish i was another<br/>This is my take on that, it is non romantic, more about thoughts, and feels. You know, them feels!</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I wish I was Another"

The others had left for the camp. Around him the forest was still, except from the occasional puff of wind that would pull at his hair and robe. Looming over him was an old statue of Andraste. The Bride of the Maker. Old and worn, cold and standing tall. Even after all those years. It was impressive in one way, sad in another and Therion found himself sitting down in the tall grass. He put his mage staff down on his right and stared up at the statue. Powerful, yet humble, beautiful but strong, knowledgeable, but was she wise?

  
They had betrayed her, the magisters of Tevinter. It had been the end of her, and she had perished. Died, and the already existing rift between the north and south, became bigger. Had she not seen it coming?  Therion wondered what it had been like back then. What had been different, was he, anything like her? No one said it, but everyone implied it. And he heard them. Their whispers in the hallway, them shouting and shunning him for it in the chantry. None of this mattered that much to him, as the people did.Just, people. Farmers, merchants, friends, families, children, innocent people caught up in this mess. Never would he do this for the thank yous, not the power and not even social standing. Solas had told him it had been long since they elevated an elf to the standing he was now, and this was something he was to be proud of. 

  
During those rare precious moments he had time to reflect, his mind filled with questions. Brows furrowed as his hand reached out to touch the base of the statue, brushing off some of the old moss. What would it have been like, to be another? What would it been like to be her?  They called him Andraste’s Herald. He didn’t even know what that mean, nor what it entailed. Yet he tried to live up to it, not even sure if he even met the expectations. The Herald of something that wasn’t even his god or religion. 

  
Was he expecting answers from a slab of stone? Not really. Therion would turn his gaze upward again, looking at the hand of the statue holding a sword, the crown, the dragon snaking about the other arm. Would his fate be like hers? Betrayed by his own. Throwing the region into further turmoil. Would he be able to free the people and keep them safe from the dangers ahead. Would they turn on him and murder him as well? He would give anything to be her for just a day. To see what she saw, feel what she felt, so he could do this right. The world was resting on his shoulders, and it wasn’t getting any lighter with time. Sometimes he didn’t even want to be himself. It had gone from a simple and easy life with his clan, to, this. A powerful leader, with armor at his side, mages Templars, workers and pilgrims. Having to lead them to safety the best he could. To end this. To end Coryphaeus. 

  
Somewhere in the background laughter shattered the cold silence. A semblance of a smile crept over his lips. Varric’s warm laughter was always a comfort. So was Cole’s sweet nature, and Cassandra’s impetuous spirit. All of his companions, his friends, shared in his fight. It was a comfort. He cared greatly for them all and hoped all would survive this without harm or death.  
“ _-Inquisitor_?” a familiar voice rang in the background. Solas. Probably checking up on him. Making sure he hadn’t fallen into a hole or down a hill.  
“- _Hmm?”_  
 _“-Someone at the camp wishes to speak to you.”_  
Therion turned, nodded to the bald elf.  
 _“-I will be right there.”_  
He could tell Solas’ gaze lingered for a bit longer than usual. Maybe he worried?  As the apostate walked away, he got up from the grass, grabbed his staff and leaned on it. Placing his hand once more onto the stone in front of him.  
 _“-I don’t know you, but I wish I did. I can only hope to make you proud and live up to your image._ ” Hands clenched around his staff as he leaned on it, staring sadly at the statue. _“I am not even of your religion, but I hope you can accept my prayer either way, and the things I am doing for the people of Thedas in your image….Please watch over them._ ” A final sigh left his lips before he started to walk away, back to the camp. 

She had probably not heard it; the maker had probably not heard it. Maybe no one had, not even his gods. Therion felt a spark of hope in his heart and soul after talking to the statue, flowing through him. Like a small confirmation that, yes, he could do it. Approaching the camp he saw a couple of common people standing huddled by the fire, looking troubled.  
 _“-Hello, is everything alright? Do you need any help…?”_


End file.
